Bullseye
by Zeplerfer
Summary: Arthur Kirkland, the United Kingdom's finest archer, hoped to take home a medal from the 2012 London Olympics. He never expected he would take home a boyfriend as well. USUK. Olympics AU. Mutual one-sided fluff with a happy ending.


**Summary:** Arthur Kirkland, the United Kingdom's finest archer, hoped to take home a medal from the 2012 London Olympics. He never expected he would take home a boyfriend as well. USUK. Olympics AU. Mutual one-sided fluff with a happy ending.

**Pairings:** USUK, France x The World, and Giripan subtext.

**Rating:** T for language and off-page sexy times.

* * *

_ You don't always hit the target on the first shot. _

When Arthur saw the blonde teenager wandering in the square just outside Arthur's dormitory block, he suspected the kid had snuck in on a dare—probably hoping for an autograph or a picture with a famous athlete. This area of the Olympic village was supposed to be limited to athletes and their guests, although a number of locals had successfully infiltrated the square earlier in the week. More security guards had been posted since the breach, but it was clear no system was perfect.

"May I help you?" Arthur called to the stranger as he approached the center of the square, prepared to ring security if the kid started to act suspiciously. Arthur loved the competitions, but he really did not care for the accompanying level of public attention.

"Hmm?" The teenager turned to face him and then smiled. "Nah, I'm just looking for my teammates. We were supposed to meet here at 7 to head out for dinner together, but I think they left without me." As the teenager faced him, Arthur could see that he was wearing the photo badge issued to all Olympic athletes. Arthur relaxed and wondered when the other athletes had become so _young_. The kid looked like he was still in high school. It made Arthur feel far older than his 23 years warranted.

"You've been waiting here for the past hour?" Arthur asked sympathetically, feeling sorry for the poor kid. It was almost 8pm.

"Past hour?" The American teenager laughed. "Nah, I've only been here ten minutes."

Arthur's sympathy immediately vanished. "You arrived at 7:45pm and you're wondering why your friends left without you?" he asked sharply.

"Oh geez, is that the time? I knew I shouldn't've forgotten my cell in my room." The stranger rubbed the back of his head and sighed.

"Well, perhaps you'll learn to be more punctual in the future if you don't want to be left behind," Arthur replied crisply, turning to leave. It was good to see impolite idiots forced to suffer the consequences for their rude manners. The mention of dinner caused his own stomach to softly grumble. He had been practicing all day and was quite ready for dinner, especially since his aunt had recommended a lovely local restaurant serving traditional English pub fare.

"Wait, hold up!" the American called as he followed Arthur toward the entrance to the dormitories. "You're from around here, right? I bet you'd know a good place to eat!"

"I live in Manchester," Arthur replied, swiping his badge to enter his dormitory. Sure, his family was from London, but he hadn't lived in the city for years.

"That's pretty close, yeah?"

Arthur stopped in his tracks, holding the door half-way open. He had forgotten how absolutely _clueless_ Americans could be about any geography that was not their own. He was prepared to go on a very long rant on the subject, when the American started speaking again.

"I mean, it's what, 200 miles, tops?" the teenager added, as he pushed open the door the full distance and held it open for Arthur. Arthur stepped through the door, still a little shocked by a display of American geographical knowledge.

"I don't know the distance in miles, but I do know that 3 hours is a long train ride by anyone's standards," Arthur replied, trying to find _something_ grouchy to say since his planned you-Americans-suck-at-geography rant had been completely derailed. The kid had probably just made a lucky guess.

The stranger grinned broadly. "Are you kidding? I grew up in Buffalo and we did 7 hour drives to New York City every month. Three hours is a piece of cake. Now that I'm in Boston it only takes 3 hours to get to the Big Apple, which is great. Man, I love hanging out in that city."

Arthur pushed the button for the elevator and sighed. "Do I have a sign on my forehead that says 'Please tell me your life story'? Because I really don't understand why you're still talking to me." He stared resolutely at the elevator door, wishing for the numbers to go by more quickly.

"Well, you don't have a sign, but you do have a couple of ginormous eyebrows." Arthur whipped around and _glared_ at the stranger, who just smiled and didn't act the slightest bit embarrassed. "Aw, come on. Isn't the point of the Olympics to get to know cool people from other countries? You seem interesting."

"And you seem like an obnoxious git." The elevator door dinged and Arthur stepped inside, happy to have had the last word.

Unfortunately, the American immediately followed. "Does 'git' mean really cool person in Brit-speak?" he asked with a grin as he leaned against the elevator wall.

Arthur sighed and rolled his eyes. "First, it is called _English_. You are in England, where we speak _proper_ English. It is also referred to as the Queen's English or BBC English. Second… yes, 'git' does mean an interesting person. I suggest you refer to everyone here as 'git,' as I'm sure they will appreciate it."

The American laughed. "Oh man, you Brits have the best sense of dry humor."

"Drat, I was hoping you were daft enough to fall for that."

The elevator reached Arthur's floor. He normally wasn't superstitious, but he was pleased to be located on the lucky seventh floor. The stranger followed him off the elevator, and asked, "So, do you know a good local pub for dinner? The 24-hour dining hall they built us is seriously cool, but I wanted to try some real English food."

Arthur stopped in front of his room door. He turned around to face the rather annoying blond teenager that had decided to become his personal pest. "Look, have I given you any reason to think that I have any interest whatsoever in talking to you?" he asked, crossing his arms across his chest.

The American scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. "Well, the very first words you said to me were 'May I help you?' so I kinda thought you were offering to help."

"I don't have any local recommendations, so please stop bothering me," Arthur said irritably. His only recommendation was the place _he _intended to eat and he was not going to put up with an annoying American for the rest of the evening. He wanted to eat dinner in peace and quiet, both of which seemed impossible to find in the American's company.

The American sighed, but he nodded anyway. "Oh, okay. Well, good luck at the games!" He turned and began walking towards the elevators. Arthur watched the elevator doors open and close, and then unlocked his door. He grabbed his wallet and began to feel a touch guilty for sending the teenager away. The kid was obviously young and he was in a foreign city without any of his friends. He had clearly latched on to the first available person just to have someone to hang out with for the evening. Plus, Arthur _had_ offered to help, even if he hadn't really meant it at the time. Making a quick decision, Arthur pocketed his wallet and took the next elevator down. He spotted the teenager just outside the door.

"Hold up!" Arthur called. The American teenager turned and regarded him with a slightly confused expression. "I just remembered that that I do know a place in the area," Arthur explained, as he came within speaking distance. "It's a little hard to find, so it shouldn't be too crowded."

"Really?" the American exclaimed happily. "Man, I'm really glad I met you! My name is Alfred Jones," he offered a hand and Arthur shook it.

"Arthur, Arthur Kirkland."

As Arthur had promised, the restaurant was close and not terribly crowded, despite its proximity to the Olympic Village. They were quickly seated at a table for two. Alfred flipped through the menu and proclaimed everything "cool" and "totally awesome." He spent several minutes debating between the fish and chips and the bangers and mash, before deciding to just go ahead and get both. Arthur settled for a shepherd's pie. Arthur ordered water, knowing better than to drink alcohol before a competition, even though he was dying for a good pint. He promised himself he would return after the end of the games and get properly sloshed—either in celebration or as compensation for losing.

Alfred eyed the beer list, but ended up ordering lemonade.

"Are you even old enough to drink?" Arthur asked as he watched Alfred look through the beer list with a wistful glance.

"I am here," Alfred replied with a grin. "Man, the U.K. is the best. I've still got like two years to wait back in the States. Hey, do you mind if I take out my contacts at the table?"

"Go right ahead," Arthur replied. It was a lovely restaurant, but it had plenty of rowdy patrons, so there was a very good chance that their table was more hygienic than the men's loo.

Alfred took out his contacts and replaced them with wire-rimmed glasses from his gym bag. He smiled at Arthur and suddenly looked less like an annoying kid and more like an attractive young man. Arthur's mouth went dry and he hid his reaction by taking a hasty gulp of water. He quickly did the math and realized that his dining companion was at least 19 since the States had the ridiculously high drinking age of 21. Taking his own age divided by two plus seven (the standard rule for calculating age gap creepiness), Arthur came to the result that ogling the young American wasn't creepy. But just barely.

The waitress stopped by the table to take their order, pulling Arthur out of his daze. As she took away their menus, Arthur found himself staring awkwardly across the table at a person he had met only fifteen minutes ago. An American with bad manners and a perpetual smile. A smile that was starting to create a pool of warmth in Arthur's stomach when it was directed at him. _This_ was going to be an interesting dinner.

Alfred seemed happy to supply most of the chatter, but Arthur felt he ought to make some attempt to contribute instead of just admiring Alfred's looks for the rest of the night. He settled for asking Alfred which event he competed in. For some athletes, it was easy to tell, but he honestly couldn't guess the blond American's event. He was too short for basketball and not bulky enough for wrestling. Arthur suspected swimming or running, since he knew a lot of Americans competed in those events.

Alfred leaned forward and smiled shyly. "Promise you won't laugh?"

"You're an Olympic athlete and you think I'm going to laugh?" Arthur asked in surprise, honestly shocked by the idea. People had made fun of Arthur for a lot of things in his life (his gardening hobby, his stuffed unicorn collection, and his complete inability to hold his liquor), but they had never mocked his athletic ambitions.

Alfred shrugged. "People have before."

For a moment Alfred looked vulnerable and not at all like his chipper, aggravatingly-cheerful self. Even though Arthur barely knew the young man, he wanted to say something to cheer him up. "Well, my sport is archery, so if anyone laughs at you, let me know and I'll come shoot them for you," he offered.

"Dude, that's so cool! If I did a sport with a deadly weapon I bet no one would laugh at me either. Unfortunately, my event is table tennis, and no one takes it seriously when I threaten to hit them with a ping pong ball."

"Hmm, you'd probably be better off threatening to swack them with the paddle instead."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Alfred grinned. They both laughed and Arthur decided he was actually doing rather well in the conversation department tonight.

Arthur took a sip of water and relaxed. He had been so focused on practicing for the past few weeks that he couldn't remember the last time he had just sat down and chatted with another person, especially a handsome young man. Even when he wasn't preparing for the Olympics, work kept him so busy that he didn't go out to dinner often. Which was a pity, because it was actually rather nice. Arthur leaned forward and continued talking, "If anyone tells you that table tennis is a ridiculous sport, you should let them know that tug-of-war was an Olympic event in this very city in 1908."

"Seriously?" Alfred's eyes widened and an expression of amused disbelief spread across his face. "Wow…"

Arthur nodded and proceeded to recount the story of the fine match of tug-of-war that occurred in the summer of 1908 at the London Olympics. Interestingly, tug-of-war had been included because it was one of the original Olympic events, leading Arthur into a discussion of other discontinued events. A little too late, Arthur realized that bizarre, century-old Olympic sports were probably not the most entertaining choice of dinner conversation (Arthur loved history, so he was always surprised when eyes started to glaze over during his stories), but Alfred nodded excitedly, so Arthur continued talking until their food arrived.

Alfred practically inhaled his food, declaring it all to be totally delicious. He either really liked fried things or he had a very underdeveloped palate. Arthur ate his own food at a much more sedate pace since he had a little something he liked to think of as manners.

After Alfred ordered dessert ('How can I resist when spotted dick is on the menu?' Alfred had explained with a grin), the conversation quickly shifted to discussing what they did 'in real life.' Alfred studied computer science at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and hoped to become a video game programmer when he graduated. Arthur described his job as an early modern historian working for the National Archives offices in Manchester and his hobby of studying medieval bow-making techniques. Alfred nodded happily, seemingly enthralled by the concept of medieval weaponry, so Arthur explained the different types of core woods. His personal favorite was osage orange, but each core had its own benefits and drawbacks.

"Huh, you know, that kinda reminds me of Harry Potter and the different cores for wands," Alfred commented thoughtfully. Then he grinned. "Do you think anyone at the archery competition has unicorn hair for their core?"

"I'm afraid unicorn hair is against regulations," Arthur replied dryly.

"Wow, they seriously think of everything. Probably a good idea though. With all the hooking up that goes on at the Olympics, you wouldn't want an archer suddenly unable to use their unicorn bow." Alfred grinned.

"Oh? Do you also suffer from loud neighbors?" Arthur honestly didn't understand how anyone managed to have sex in the small twin-sized beds in their dormitories, but clearly they did if the thousands of condoms distributed by the event organizers were any indication. Given the thousands of attractive and fit young men and women suddenly thrown into close quarters he couldn't say he was surprised. He just wished they didn't have to be so noisy about it.

Alfred shook his head. "Nah, I'm next to a Japanese Judo artist on one side and a Greek competing in sailing on the other. They're both pretty quiet. How about you?"

Arthur sighed and described the unfortunate experience of rooming next to a French swimmer who slept with a new person or multiple people each night. He had even brought an inflatable queen bed to his room, claiming that the twin beds provided were simply 'insufficient for l'amour.' Arthur had to reject his advances repeatedly, explaining that 'I don't date French men. Yes, that means you, frog.'

"How did he know you were gay?" Alfred asked. Arthur almost asked how _Alfred_ knew he was gay, before realizing that his response to the French swimmer had made it somewhat obvious. A straight man would have rejected him for being a man, not for being French.

Arthur shrugged. "He didn't. Monsieur Bonnefoy hits on everyone."

They moved on to the topic of video games and Arthur quickly realized where Alfred had developed his love of medieval weaponry. The games were hilariously wrong in many instances, but it had never occurred to Arthur before that video games were a way to share knowledge with the masses. It was an intriguing thought.

When Alfred's dessert arrived, he offered some to Arthur, handing over his fork. Their fingers lingered together on the fork longer than necessary and as Arthur caught Alfred's gaze, he began to suspect that the American's smiles and laughs were intentional flirting. A warm fluttery feeling returned to his chest.

The waitress brought the check and Arthur realized they had been talking for nearly two hours. They paid their bill and took the scenic route back the Olympic Village, walking closely enough to bump shoulders. As they approached Arthur's block, he couldn't decide whether the flirting was real or just his wistful imagination. There was only one way to find out.

"Would you like to come up to my room for something to drink?" Arthur asked.

"Oh, no thanks, I need to be getting back," Alfred replied, quickly putting an end to Arthur's hopes for any additional plans for the evening. Oh well, this wasn't the first time Arthur had mistaken friendliness for flirtation. Oblivious to Arthur's inner disappointment, Alfred continued to talk, "But I'd like to swap numbers in case you want to hang out again some time. This was fun."

Arthur agreed and wrote down his number for Alfred. Despite his loud enthusiasm and his lack of manners, the young American was surprisingly good company, even if he wasn't interested in anything past friendship. They could spend time together during the Olympics and Arthur would just have to remember to keep any thoughts about the well-defined muscles he could see under the American's thin t-shirt to himself.

Alfred smiled and waved goodbye. As Arthur waved back, the butterflies in his stomach informed him that ignoring his attraction might not be as easy as he thought.

* * *

_ Sometimes, you can play your best and still expect to lose._

During his tennis table practice sessions, Alfred felt amazing. He was full of energy and caffeine and energy. He returned every volley, used the perfect level of spin, and played better than he had ever played before in his life. Even his trainer was impressed. Alfred knew that he was an extreme long-shot to win a medal, but he was going to give it his best try.

At the end of practice, he raced to the showers, washed the sweat from his body, tugged on new clothes and jogged over to Arthur's dormitory, where they would be meeting to head over to the London Eye together. He was so thrilled to see Arthur again and ecstatic to be seeing the city of London. All of his events were in East London, so Alfred hadn't seen the city since passing through on his way from Heathrow airport.

He spotted Arthur waiting for him in the square, grabbed his arm and practically dragged the English archer to the nearest tube station, chattering excitedly about London all the while.

Alfred touched Arthur's arm and smiled flirtatiously, but the English archer no longer seemed to respond to his touches. Alfred began to think that he had been imagining flirtatious behavior during their pub dinner. He cut back on the physical contact and decided that it was alright just spending time with Arthur.

When they arrived at London Eye, it was Arthur's turn to talk. He pointed out all of the sites as they slowly rose into the air, explaining the history behind each. Alfred watched in eager fascination. Arthur was sharp-witted and clever, with a droll comment always on his lips. Alfred would have been happy listening to him recite the London phone book, but it was even better watching him talk about history. Arthur clearly loved history, and the excitement shone in his eyes, making them flash and sparkle as he talked. Too soon, the ride ended and they had to head back to the Olympic village.

To Alfred's immense delight, they met up for either dinner or some other activity each night for the rest of the week. He grinned happily and told himself that it was alright if Arthur didn't like him the same way he liked Arthur, because just hanging out was lots of fun. Arthur was hilarious when he complained grouchily and adorable when he scowled, but Alfred could see that most of the glares were just for show. He enjoyed winding up his English friend, knowing that Arthur wasn't really mad at him. For some reason, Arthur never seemed to be truly annoyed with him, even though Alfred knew he wasn't very good with manners or punctuality and he sometimes said 'bloody moronic' things. The only hard part was just being friends when Alfred wanted to be so much more. Whenever they said goodbye, the desire to just grab Arthur and kiss him reminded Alfred that it might be harder to hide his crush than he thought.

* * *

_ Sometimes, the target is closer than you think._

"Excellent performance!" Arthur's coach said after the end of the archery ranking round on the first day of the Olympics. Arthur nodded, pleased with his fifth place rank. He would still need to make it through three more rounds to reach the quarter finals, but his high ranking would place him against weaker opponents during the preliminary rounds.

The two other British archers invited him to join them for a late lunch, but Arthur declined, citing previous plans. He didn't mention that these afternoon plans simply involved watching television shows with a certain blond table tennis player.

For the first time, Arthur was going to meet Alfred at the American's room, to save Alfred the trouble of carrying his laptop to Arthur's room. Unsurprisingly, he found that Alfred's room was a complete mess. Clothing lay strewn about the room and different table tennis paddles covered every surface. Alfred scooped up the pile of clothing that had colonized his bed and dumped it on the floor to make room for them to watch shows.

"I don't suppose you've ever heard of this wonderful invention called 'the closet'?" Arthur commented dryly as he scrutinized the room. He managed to follow the narrow path to the bed before carefully sitting down.

"But what if there are monsters in the closet? They'd eat my clothes! Then I'd have to compete naked. Say… do you think that would be a good strategy? I mean, they used to compete naked way back in ancient times."

Through extreme force of will, Arthur managed not to think of Alfred playing ping pong in the nude. With all the jumping and fast arm movements, it would be quite a sight to behold. No! He wasn't going to think about it. Alfred was still staring, waiting for a response. "Well, I certainly think they'd sell more tickets," Arthur managed to say. More tickets? They would sell _all_ of the tickets. He really needed to stop thinking about it.

They leaned back on Alfred's bed as he set the laptop in front of them. "So what show do you want to watch?" Alfred asked. "I've got tons, just don't ask where I got them."

Arthur chuckled. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone you're a pirate." He thought for a few moments, but nothing came to mind. He honestly didn't watch much television. "Did you have something in mind?"

Alfred smiled at him shyly and looked a touch embarrassed. "Well, I was kinda thinking we could watch My Little Pony."

Arthur was so caught up in admiring Alfred's adorable embarrassed face that it took him a few moments to catch up with Alfred's words. Arthur coughed. "Do you have something a little more adult?" he asked.

"Well, if you want porn, I got a ton of—"

"No, no!" Arthur quickly interrupted. "I meant a show for adults. Not porn." The idea of watching porn with Alfred was excruciating. What did Alfred look like when he was aroused? Did his face flush red, covered by a glistening layer of sweat? Arthur wanted so badly to find out, but he knew it was a terrible idea. If he didn't know better, he would swear that Alfred was teasing him on purpose.

"Let's see," Alfred scrolled through his folders. "Oh! I've got Torchwood. That's good. Have you seen Doctor Who? It makes more sense if you have."

"Alfred, I'm English. _Of course_, I've seen Doctor Who."

Alfred laughed and booted up the file. They sat closely together on the bed (Arthur tried to ignore quite how closely) since the room had no other seats. As the show progressed, Arthur lost himself in the storyline and didn't even notice as he leaned against Alfred. Alfred must have really enjoyed the show too, because he didn't pull away.

As the credits rolled for the first episode Arthur admitted that the show was tolerable. Alfred nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I like watching. Captain Jack Harkness is hot."

Arthur desperately tried to jump-start his brain. Alfred thought that a guy was hot. Alfred thought that a _guy_ was _hot_. He had assumed that Alfred rejected him because he was straight, but if Alfred wasn't straight, did that mean that Alfred hadn't rejected him? What if he had just moved too fast for the young American? Arthur decided to test the waters.

"Actually, I thought Ianto _Jones_ was the better looking of the two," he said casually. "Don't you think Harkness is a bit… old?"

"Nah, mature guys are sexy. Plus, he's smart and witty. What do you see in Ianto? I didn't think he got interesting until later episodes."

"He's funny and good-natured. And he looks good in a suit."

Alfred laughed. "You know, 's funny you mentioned Ianto, him and Jack actually get into a relationship later in the series. I mean, at first they spend a lot of time flirting, not really figuring it out, but they start dating eventually. They work well together." Alfred turned to look at him with an expression that Arthur would almost dare to describe as hopeful.

Just as Arthur started to think that it might be alright to just lean forward and kiss him already and see how far Alfred would go from there, the alarm on his mobile began to ring. Arthur vaguely remembered setting the alarm to make sure he wasn't late for the opening ceremony, but now he cursed his forethought.

Arthur pulled back and turned off the alarm. He looked at the time and sighed.

"You need to go get ready for the ceremony?" Alfred asked in disappointment. He pulled out his own cell and checked his texts. "Oh geez, I need to get ready too. We'll plan something for later, right?"

"Definitely," Arthur agreed, hoping that next time he would finally get some answers and if he got the right answers, a bit of shagging to boot.

Arthur enjoyed the Opening Ceremony (who wouldn't? it was such a perfect tribute to sheer Britishness and filled him with a quiet sense of national pride), but he found his thoughts continuously wandering back to Alfred. He knew the American would be busy with his table tennis events for the next two days and Arthur had archery events for the three days after that. He wasn't sure either of them would have a spare moment for almost a week. It was so bloody unfair.

And then Arthur began to wonder what would happen if they did have a quick fling. Would they simply wish each other goodbye at the end of the games and perhaps whisper "We'll always have London"? The thought already saddened him and they hadn't even _kissed_. Who knew a silly young American could turn him into suck a lovestruck sap?

Fortunately, Arthur was saved from further depressing thoughts as it was finally Great Britain's turn to join the parade of nations. He really hoped his parents weren't watching, because he was never going to live down the golden armpits on the team's white track suit. He understood the idea of wearing gold for luck, but wasn't subtlety supposed to be a hallmark of British culture? He didn't care for the shorts either, especially since people kept staring at his legs. They probably thought that shorts were a ridiculous choice for the parade of nations. Arthur certainly did. He made his way to the center of the pack of athletes and focused on keeping his arms down so that no one could see the embarrassing golden armpits.

Alfred had been bugging him to see Great Britain's team outfit, but Arthur resolved to 'misplace' the uniform at his earliest convenience. He didn't think his pride could handle having Alfred see him in this ridiculous get up.

Especially the ridiculous shorts.

* * *

_ Sometimes, the target isn't what you expect._

Alfred was thrilled. He had made it through the preliminary round, the first round, and the second round. Table tennis matches used knock-out rounds, so even the slightest decline in performance could lead to sudden defeat. He was at the top of his game, doing way better than anyone had expected, considering he was going up against much higher ranked athletes. This was his favorite part of the Olympics—the opportunity for an underdog to strike from behind.

Alfred hummed the Rocky theme song to himself for good luck as he practiced, before remembering that Rocky lost in the first film. Crap, why did so many sports movies have moral victories instead of actual victories? He needed to pick something else for better luck. But Eye of the Tiger was such a good song!

When his inevitable defeat occurred, Alfred took it well. The South Korean player who beat him seemed like a cool guy, so they even ate together in the dining hall afterwards. He liked talking with his new friend, but Alfred's heart started beating faster when he saw Arthur walking past.

"Hey Arthur!" he called loudly, drawing Arthur's attention as the Brit walked past. Alfred cheerfully waved and gestured to the empty seat at their table. Arthur nodded and started walking over with his tray. Arthur took a seat next to Alfred as Alfred made introductions.

"Arthur, I want you to meet my new friend. This is Im Yong Soo, he's the South Korean player who beat me in the Third Round today. Yong Soo, this is Arthur Kirkland."

"Nice to meet you," Arthur said, before turning to Alfred. "You seem to be taking defeat rather well."

Alfred grinned. "Yong Soo's ranked number four in the world! So I figure, if no one else beats him, that makes me number five by default, right?

"I don't think it quite works that way," Arthur commented dryly.

"Ssh, stop ruining things with logic," Alfred said as he pressed a finger against Arthur's lips and watched the Englishman's eyes widen in surprise. Damn, he looked adorable when he was surprised.

"I'll definitely win!" Yong Soo insisted loudly, pulling Alfred back to reality. "Table tennis was invented in Korea."

Arthur shook his head. "Actually table tennis was invented in Victorian England. The wealthy played it after dinner parties, using the champagne cork as the ball," he corrected.

Alfred nudged Arthur with his elbow and smiled. "Don't mind Yong Soo, he likes to claim everything was invented in Korea."

"Inventing things was invented in Korea!" the South Korean said with a grin.

They ate lunch together and between Yong Soo's silly remarks and Arthur's witty comebacks, Alfred didn't even care that he wasn't going to take home a medal. Maybe those sport movies had the right idea—you didn't need an actual victory to have a happy ending.

* * *

_ So it's always worth taking the shot._

Arthur had survived the round of 64 and the round of 32, which meant that tomorrow he would face the round of 16, the quarter-finals, the semi-finals, and if he was very lucky… the finals themselves. All hopes for a British medal in archery now rested on his shoulders.

Fortunately, Arthur had the two things he needed most to prepare for the archery competition: a nice cup of chamomile tea and the prescription liquid sleeping pills his doctor had provided to ensure an adequate level of rest. The night before a big competition Arthur was always too frazzled to sleep properly without a little extra help. If he didn't sleep, he couldn't compete at his best. Fortunately, sleeping pills were perfectly allowable under the Olympic rules.

After Arthur sipped the last of his tea and finished preparing for bed, he took the sleeping pills. Now came the hard part. Lying on his bed for up to an hour, waiting for the pills to take effect. The doctor promised that they were supposed to work in less than 15 minutes, but Arthur generally found that it took much longer. He tried very hard not to think about how nervous he was for tomorrow, but once the thought process began he couldn't stop.

His thoughts were disturbed after only a few minutes by the sound of soft knocking at his door. Arthur sighed and went to the door. Perhaps he was never going to get any sleep.

Alfred stood outside the door, smiling broadly. "Hey Artie, I just wanted to wish you good luck for tomorrow... Oh shit, I didn't wake you up did I?" he asked, a guilty look flashing across his face when he caught sight of Arthur's pajamas.

"Don't worry, you didn't. Here, come in, there's no need to stand in the doorway." Arthur gestured for him to enter and then closed the door. He didn't want the sounds of their conversation to disturb the neighbors. He at least was considerate, unlike certain noisy Frenchmen he could name.

Alfred entered, but still looked a little uncomfortable about the thought that he had pulled Arthur out of bed. "Are you sure you don't need to try to sleep? I don't want to disturb you."

"It's not a problem. In fact, I doubt I'll be able to fall asleep for another hour. I take sleeping pills to help, but they don't work particularly well. Nerves, I'm afraid." Arthur shrugged. "You're welcome to stay and chat a bit if you'd like. I wouldn't mind the company."

"Sure, I'm happy to help!" Alfred replied cheerfully, feeling much better now that he was sure he hadn't woken Arthur up. It was only 9pm, but it really should have occurred to him that Arthur would be the type to go to bed very early before a competition.

They sat together on the bed, since there weren't any other places to sit in the nearly-empty rooms. Arthur's room looked as clean as they day he had moved in, a far cry from Alfred's messy one. In fact the only thing sitting on the floor was the electric kettle that Arthur brought to every competition so he could have tea without making the long trek to the kitchen.

After a short glance around the room, Alfred turned back to face Arthur. "You know, I'm surprised you get nervous before competitions. I always pictured you as the stiff upper lip sort."

Arthur snorted. "Having a stiff upper lip doesn't mean you lack emotions, it just means you don't go around telling everyone about your personal feelings. Unlike certain over-sharing Americans I could name."

"You've been hanging out with other Americans? I'm jealous," Alfred teased.

Arthur yawned and leaned his head against Alfred's shoulder. "Don't worry, pet, there's no need to be."

Alfred's heart skipped a beat at the sudden affection gesture. He wanted to kiss Arthur or maybe just grab him in a tight hug, but he resisted the urge because Arthur looked incredibly peaceful in his current position. Also, he wasn't sure how Arthur would respond. He had tried mentioning things like nudity and porn to the Englishman, but Arthur didn't seem to react at all. Alfred settled for sliding his arm around Arthur's waist, gently holding the Brit steady as he leaned more of his body weight against Alfred's side.

Alfred searched his mind for a nice topic to keep Arthur's mind occupied. All he needed to do was talk about something that wasn't the games and something that wouldn't make Arthur annoyed. He settled on London as a good, safe topic.

"By the way, thank you for the history tour of London. It was great to hear all the stories from someone who knows the history so well," Alfred said.

"My pleasure. Sometimes it's nice to see," Arthur paused to yawn and then continued, "to see a familiar place through fresh eyes."

"I know what you mean. I only do sightseeing in Boston when my family comes to visit. It's a nice city. Not quite as nice as London though." Alfred smiled. The London Eye had been pretty nice, but the best part was honestly the company. Arthur was so knowledgeable and sharp-witted. Right now, the proximity of Arthur's face to his own and the Brit's sleep-laden eyes were sending the most amazing thrills up and down Alfred's body. He got the sense that Arthur didn't let his guard down very often, so he was thrilled that Arthur had trusted him enough to practically fall asleep on his shoulder.

"Any more sightseeing planned?" Arthur asked, blinking his eyes drowsily.

"I'd like to see Shakespeare's Globe. Do you think…" Alfred hesitated, unsure if this was really the best time to ask the question, but not sure when he would get a better chance. "Do you think you'd like to go see a play together?" Alfred hadn't originally been planning to see the Globe. His tastes were a little too modern to enjoy the Bard much, but he had racked his brains coming up with an excuse to spend more time with his British crush and he had a pretty good suspicion that Arthur would love Shakespeare.

Proving Alfred's guess correct, Arthur smiled happily. He looked young and carefree and far too cute for words. "That would be lovely," he murmured in agreement, as his eyelids finally fluttered completely shut. His body rested entirely against the American, with only Alfred's arm and shoulder holding him upright.

Alfred thought his heart was going to burst at the soft smile Arthur gave him just before he conked out. Part of him wanted to just sit there, holding the sleeping Brit for the rest of the night. But he knew that Arthur needed a more restful sleeping position, so he gently lowered the Brit's head onto his pillow and then lifted his feet up onto the bed. He tucked in the sheets and then debated whether or not to give the slumbering man a goodnight kiss on the forehead. On the one hand, it was kinda creepy to kiss someone in their sleep, but on the other hand, Arthur looked really, really cute at the moment. Arthur started to snore slightly, which made Alfred's heart nearly melt again and he instantly decided to just go for the kiss anyway. He brushed his lips against Arthur's forehead and then quietly walked over to the light switch.

"Sweet dreams," Alfred said as he flicked the switch and then closed the door, making sure it locked behind him. The only response was the sound of gentle snores.

* * *

_Because the only shot that's sure to miss is the shot you never take._  


"Are you really sure I can have this?" Alfred asked excitedly, looking at the ticket in his hand like it was the golden ticket and he was Charlie Bucket. He had begged and pleaded to find a ticket for the men's archery competition and now his neighbor Kiku Honda had just given him one and it was like Christmas and his birthday were somehow both on the same day (Christmas in July!) and had arrived early this year.

Kiku nodded his head politely. "Hai, Alfred-san. I want you to have it. I made other plans for the day and I think you will enjoy it more."

"Oh man, Kiku buddy, I really want to hug you so much right now, but you totally freaked the last time I did that so I'm going to thank you by not hugging you!"

"You should leave soon to arrive on time," Kiku politely reminded Alfred, stepping back ever so slightly to discourage any more exuberant American hugs.

"Right!" Alfred grabbed his bag and raced for the stairs, too impatient to wait for the elevator. He took the stairs two at a time and made it to the nearest tube station at a time that could have qualified him for an Olympic sprinting event.

When he arrived at the Lord's Cricket Ground it was packed full of people. Archery was the hottest sport at this year's Olympics, which was one reason finding a ticket had been so hard. Alfred resolved to find a really nice thank-you present for Kiku. But he really didn't understand what the arena was normally used for. What did the lords even do with crickets? It was probably some weird British thing.

The crowd hushed as the competition began. Alfred fidgeted in his seat until Arthur finally appeared. Arthur calmly aimed and fired his arrows. He easily out-shot his opponent, securing his position in the quarter-finals.

Arthur shot with cool precision, just the way Alfred imagined he would. He was perfectly poised, flawlessly accounting for the crosswind that lightly ruffled his sandy-blond hair. He looked amazing, so cool and collected (even though Alfred suspected he was still nervous on the side), but Alfred didn't think the modern bow suited Arthur. It had too many gadgets. Arthur needed an elegant medieval bow, like an archer from the days of yore. Something with history and class. Alfred wanted to see him shoot an English long-bow and show the audience how archery was really done.

After winning in the quarterfinals, Arthur tied with his opponent in the semi-finals, leading to a shoot-off. Each archer would take one shot and the one who hit their arrow closest to the bullseye would advance to the finals round—and an opportunity to win the gold and silver medals. Arthur's opponent shot first, scoring an excellent 9. As Alfred held his breath, Arthur notched his arrow, pulled back smoothly, aimed, and released. His arrow hit dead center, scoring a perfect bullseye. Arthur smiled slightly and Alfred thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He wanted to see that smile again. He wanted to see that smile for the rest of his life. At that moment, Alfred realized he was in love.

He could hide a crush or ignore an infatuation, but Alfred had watched too many Disney movies as a child and was too much of a hopeful romantic to deny love. A hero didn't run away from love. He had been worried about damaging their burgeoning friendship, worried he would ruin what they had if he tried for something more, but he couldn't just let this golden opportunity pass without telling Arthur how he felt. It was the only way to know for sure. With the helpful advice of his friend Kiku in mind, Alfred decided to make his move.

* * *

___And you never know when you might hit a bullseye. _

Arthur lost in the finals round, but he decided that the silver medal was jolly good consolation prize. The other British archers invited him out for dinner and drinks in celebration. Arthur accepted, but as the night passed, he couldn't help but feel that he would be happier if he were spending the evening with a certain American instead. With only one week left in the Olympics, he wanted to enjoy the remaining time they had left.

It was getting a bit ridiculous, Arthur thought to himself. He had barely known the young man for a week and he already wanted to schedule his life around him. But the worst problem was that while he enjoyed their friendship, he really wanted something more. Alfred was normally quite affectionate, so it was hard to tell if the American was actually flirting, or if he was just really friendly. Arthur decided he was going to resolve the issue the best way he knew how: with alcohol. He would invite Alfred for celebratory drinks, get them both a little tipsy, and then they would either end up together in Arthur's bed or not. Either way, it would resolve the tension between them with a minimal amount of fuss.

The other archers assumed Arthur was glum because he failed to win the gold, so they didn't protest when he decided to leave early.

Arthur pulled out his mobile as he walked back to the Olympic village. He had several congratulatory voicemails from his family and coworkers, but the one that interested him most was the text from Alfred:

_Arthur! congrats! you were amazing!_ XD

Arthur smiled and dialed the American's number, hoping he hadn't made other plans for the evening. Alfred picked up almost immediately. "Hey, Artie! Congratulations! You were so freaking fantastic out there."

Arthur chuckled, touched by Alfred's enthusiasm. "Thank you. Would you be interested in celebratory drinks? I did promise to take you to a pub and get you properly sloshed while you're still in the UK."

"Sounds great! Can I meet you at your room?"

"Sure." Arthur smiled and hung up his phone, hurrying back to his room so he wouldn't keep Alfred waiting.

Surprisingly, the American wasn't there when Arthur arrived, even though he had a much shorter distance to walk. Unfortunately, someone else was waiting for Arthur. The French swimmer exited his room when he heard Arthur walk down the hallway. He leaned against the wall and leered. "So Arthur, tell me, who is this 'Ianto'?"

Arthur ignored him and slammed the door shut before he had to listen to any more of Bonnefoy's ridiculous nonsense. If Alfred was going to be late (and he usually was), Arthur decided to take the opportunity to freshen up his cologne and attempt to tame his hair. Fifteen minutes later, he began to grow increasingly frustrated with Alfred's tardiness. If he was going to be late, he should have at least sent a text! He heard loud knocking on the door and breathed a sigh of relief. _Finally_.

Except, instead of finding Alfred at the door, he came face-to-face with Francis again. "I still want to hear about your Ianto," Francis said.

Arthur would have slammed the door shut, but Francis had taken advantage of Arthur's surprise to slip into the room. Slamming the door now would only serve to trap them both in the room together. "I don't know any Iantos," Arthur replied irritably.

"Oh? It seems there is one who would like to get to know you better." Francis waved a rose and a note in front of Arthur's face. Arthur grabbed it quickly and read the note.

_Sorry that I'm too much of a coward to give this to you in person. But I wanted to let you know that I really like you and I think I could be your Ianto. If you feel the same way, come find me where we first met. If you don't, then please forget I ever gave you this message._

It took Arthur a few moments to realize what the message meant and he was suddenly torn between two burning, conflicting desires. One, he had to run downstairs and find Alfred. Two, he needed to _kill_ Francis.

"You stole my bloody message!" Arthur yelled.

Francis shrugged, not at all ashamed. "I saw a rose by your door and assumed it had been left for moi. I didn't really think you were the type to receive romantic confessions. But I looked through my rolodex of lovers and didn't find any Iantos, so I decided it was yours after all."

"I am going to kill you," Arthur swore with a murderous glare.

"My dear Englishman, shouldn't you be rushing off to find your Ianto?" Francis grinned.

"I am going to kill you _tomorrow_," Arthur promised, before pushing the Frenchman out of his room, locking the door, and running to the elevator.

Alfred was still waiting in the dark square outside and Arthur felt a moment of déjà vu. He remembered the first time he had spotted the American in this square waiting for his friends and the second time had he raced outside hoping to catch the teenager before he left. Hopefully, the third time was the charm. Alfred's face lit up with happiness when he saw Arthur approaching and then immediately fell when he heard Arthur yell, "You bloody idiot!"

Arthur strode up to Alfred, threw his arms around his neck, and kissed the American soundly. Alfred stood frozen for a second, before tentatively kissing back. Arthur had waited a week for this, so he quickly deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue between Alfred's parted lips. He reveled in the sensation of their bodies pressed against each other, enjoying the firm feel of Alfred's chest beneath his own. Eventually they pulled back for air and Alfred's eyes shone with wonder and confusion.

"I'm kinda getting mixed messages here," Alfred admitted.

Arthur waved the note in front of his face. "Don't leave notes like this where stupid Frenchmen can steal them," he muttered, the kiss too fresh in his mind for any real anger to be left in his voice.

Alfred grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, my Japanese friend gave me advice about confessions, but it didn't occur to me that someone might take it." He paused and his grin widened. "So, does this mean you like me too?"

For once, Arthur found himself without a witty comeback, so he settled for kissing Alfred again. It was even better than the first time because Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur's waist and responded enthusiastically.

Arthur pulled back and smiled. "Does that answer your question?" he asked as he slid his fingers through Alfred's hair, happily noting that it was just as soft and silky as he imagined.

Alfred nodded, grinning from ear to ear.

"Good, now, do you still want to go to the pub?"

"Actually, do you mind if we… stay in instead?" Alfred smiled hesitantly. He let go of Arthur's waist and reached for the other man's hands. Arthur could feel the warm, strong grip, and Alfred's slightly sweaty palms.

Arthur gave his hands a reassuring squeeze. "That sounds lovely."

"Do you think we could…?" Alfred asked hopefully.

"Of course," the British archer replied quickly. "Let's use my room, it's cleaner and I don't care if we annoy Francis, so we can be as loud as want.

"Great! Let me grab a few things and I'll be right back." Alfred sprinted off in the direction of his dormitory block, smiling and waving back as he ran.

"Don't keep me waiting this time!" Arthur called. He hummed contentedly to himself as he returned to his room. His clothes were already neatly folded in his closet, so he didn't need to do any cleaning. It was just a matter of digging through his suitcase to find a condom and his travel-size bottle of lube. He was very glad he had planned ahead. In a matter of minutes, he heard Alfred's knock on the door and went to let the American in.

Alfred bounced into the room, as cheerful and happy as Arthur had ever seen him before. It seemed Arthur wasn't the only one who wanted a bit of 'how's your father.' Alfred grinned. "Oh man, Arthur this is so exciting, I didn't think you wanted to do this with me!"

Arthur chuckled. "Well, you were very, very wrong."

"This is gonna be so much fun! I just know you're going to love it," Alfred said happily as he sat down on the bed and pulled his laptop out of his bag.

"Why do you need your laptop?" Arthur asked. Was the American seriously going to check his email before foreplay? Americans really were addicted to their social networks.

Alfred looked up in confusion. "Huh? How are we supposed to watch My Little Pony without a computer?"

Arthur stared. And stared. He stared for so long that Alfred began to fidget in the uncomfortable silence, uncertain what he had done wrong. "My Little Pony?" Arthur said flatly. Oh god, he needed a drink. He needed all of the drinks.

"Oh sorry, did you mean Torchwood? We could watch that instead," Alfred offered helpfully.

"Sex, Alfred. I was talking about sex! Boffing! Bonking! Banging! Shagging you senseless on that small mattress," Arthur pointed to his bed for extra emphasis. He sat down heavily next to Alfred and groaned as he rested his head in his hands. "Bloody stupid American. God, I'm going back to my original plan of getting completely pissed."

"Pissed? Shit, don't get mad, Arthur."

"Pissed means _drunk_, Alfred," the British archer replied tiredly. He should have known that Alfred was too young and too naïve to understand what was going on. He didn't notice that Alfred start grinning as he packed away his laptop. Alfred really didn't know how Arthur thought that 'staying in' meant 'having sex' as opposed to 'watching TV,' but there were a lot of British colloquialisms he didn't really understand. But he honestly didn't care, because having sex with Arthur was his best dream come true. He had thought he'd be lucky to get a bit of kissing, since Arthur didn't like touching in public, but now it looked like Arthur simply saved up all of his lustful thoughts for the bedroom.

Alfred stood up and Arthur expected him to leave. Instead, Alfred bent down in front of Arthur. "Arthur, Arthur," he said gently, lifting up the Englishman's head with one hand. Alfred leaned forward until their foreheads touched. "Arthur, I would _love_ to have sex with you."

Alfred tilted his own head to the side and planted kisses along the line of Arthur's jaw, pressing his soft lips southward until he reached Arthur's neck. Alfred sucked at the skin, leaving a hickey just above Arthur's collar. Arthur blinked once, twice, and then he smirked. He grabbed the American and pulled him onto the small bed.

"I hope you're as loud in bed as you are everywhere else," Arthur purred. Maybe he wouldn't actually _kill_ the Frenchman, but he could still get his revenge. Alfred grinned and then everything narrowed to a word of soft lips, firm muscles, glistening skin, and flying clothes.

Arthur forgot that the bed was too small. He forgot about Alfred's inevitable departure in one week. He even forgot his plans for revenge. Because at that moment, it was just enough to be two bodies moving as one, crying out in pleasure, finally shorn of ambiguity and doubt.

Alfred woke up with his arms wrapped Arthur, holding the other man closely on the narrow bed. He grinned and buried his face in Arthur's hair, happily breathing in Arthur's scent. Alfred was deliriously happy. They were together, and Arthur liked him back, and everything was perfect. Alfred didn't need to worry about the future. He took each day, one day at a time.

They went to see Henry V at Shakespeare's Globe.

They watched My Little Pony (and Arthur admitted it wasn't completely atrocious).

They knocked back a pint… or two, or three.

And Alfred didn't use his own bed for the rest of the week.

When Alfred's plane left the day after the Closing Ceremony, he made Arthur promise to stay in contact by phone and email. And every week, he kept his own promise to do the same. Alfred spent each summer interning in England and Arthur spent each Christmas in the states. So by the time Alfred graduated and secured a position working for UK Atari at their Manchester offices, it came as a surprise to no one when Alfred proposed and Arthur accepted.

The silver medal in Arthur's display cabinet filled him with pride, but it was the gold ring on his finger that filled him with joy. On the whole, he thought, he had done _very well_ for himself at the London 2012 Olympics.

* * *

**Omake**

Arthur: He's flirting with me! I'm going to invite him to my room for SEX.

Alfred: He's flirting with me! I'm going to invite him on lots of dates!

Arthur: Oh, I guess he's not interested in sex.

Alfred: Darn, I don't think he's interested in a relationship.

Fangirls: Noooo! You stupid fools!

...

Arthur: I can't believe you have My Little Pony and porn on the same laptop.

Alfred: Come on, it's not like I have My Little Pony porn. That would just be wrong.

...

Kiku: I'm glad to see that Alfred-san obtained the good ending.

Francis: Actually, I believe it is called a "happy" ending *leer*

Kiku: I do not understand. What is the difference between good and happy?

Francis: Hon hon, in this context, a happy ending is when you ejacu—

Kiku: Francis-san! This fic is not rated R18!

Francis: Pfft. T-ratings ruin all my fun.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

_Accuracy_. I tried to do some research into the Olympics to make the story more accurate (like the scheduling for the archery and table tennis events), but there was a lot of information I couldn't find, so I apologize for any inaccuracies. Fortunately, I trust that most of you aren't reading this to find out information about the Olympics ;)

_Sex at the Olympics_. The part about lots of athletes having lots of sex at the Olympics is completely true, as is the part about organizers distributing condoms. In fact, they handed out 150,000 condoms for the London Olympics (a new record!), which comes out to be around one per athlete per day. In this fic, you can assume that Francis is using more than his fair share.

_Creepy age gap rule_. For those who aren't familiar, the "half your age plus seven" rule is the standard rule for determining whether an age gap is 'creepy.' Fortunately for us, 23 year-old Arthur is allowed to date anyone above 18.5, making 19 year-old Alfred fair game. I kinda wonder if this was intentional when Hima set the ages? XD

...

**My Other London Olympics Fic**

If you liked this story, but thought it needed more USUK smut, I also have an M-rated piece that takes place during the 1908, 1948, and 2012 London Olympics and uses country names called "Let the Games Begin." It has smut, and fluff, and sport euphemisms, and England in short-shorts, and other enjoyable things.

...

**Thanks for reading!**

I hope you enjoyed the story and I apologize for any typos (it's a little longer than what I normally post, so I didn't have the time to give it as much polishing as I usually like). I'm not quite sure if this story ended up being what I wanted, but I like it anyway and I hope you did too. I'd love to hear back on which parts worked and which need improvement. Remember, reviews are love :)**  
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